Page 35 of Asylum (The Wellard Asylum #9)

A fter eating a cold cut sandwich, I fell asleep in the chair while I contemplated what to do with Atlas’s body.

I’ve killed people before, but it was during an IED episode, so I don’t remember much. I never realized just how physically and emotionally draining it could be. Not only that, but I’ve never had to dispose of a corpse.

I’m still covered in blood, but I didn’t see the point in showering until I’ve buried him.

There are many creative ways to get rid of a body, but unfortunately, none of those options are available to me.

And honestly, I can’t take the stench much longer.

Rigor mortis is setting in, the smell of death becoming stronger.

I have to get him out of here before he starts decomposing.

One thing I’ll give him credit for is moving out in the middle of nowhere.

Other than the neighbor across the street, there’s no one else for as far as I can see.

I don’t know if it’s a man or woman occupying the house, but I need to get him buried before I find out.

Hopefully, it’s an elderly person that goes to bed early.

Grabbing a few fifty-five-gallon trash bags from the kitchen, I decided to cover his upper body with one, and his lower body with the other.

As I kneel beside him, gripping the back of his neck to lift him up, I jerk away, his head thumping against the floor.

I’m taken aback by his cool skin and stiff body.

I didn’t think this through very well.

He’s too big to drag him outside by myself.

And he’s too stiff to fold his body into a bag.

Sitting back on my heels, I blow a stray hair out of my face, cursing Atlas’s dead spirit for getting me into this mess.

It’s well after midnight by the time I’m finished bagging his body.

After an hour of going back and forth, I went into the garage, looking for something.

Anything to solve my problem. As luck would have it, I found a hacksaw on a tool bench.

I debated whether my stomach was strong enough to do what needed to be done, but sheer determination pushed those worries aside.

It also shoved past the ick of dragging his big ass into the bathtub.

It took a few hours to completely saw through his legs and arms. By the time I detached his torso, I was exhausted and cranky, my arms like jelly. But I fought through it, knowing I still had to remove his head.

Honestly, I wish I would’ve decapitated him first. The entire time I dismembered him, his milky eyes were trained on me.

I tried to close his eyelids, but they kept snapping open, and eventually I gave up.

I placed a dish towel over his eyes once I began sawing through his neck.

It was brutal and messy but rather satisfying.

I know I’ll be sore tomorrow, but the pain will be worth it.

Afterwards, I stuffed all his pieces into the trash bags, and hauled them outside one by one, around to the back of the house.

Fuck my life.

I still have to dig a grave.

Heading back to the garage, I grab the shovel I saw earlier and get to work digging a hole behind the house. My arms ache as I stab the hard ground, sweat slicking my entire body, and I think I may pass out.

I’ve decided I’m not going to run, not now anyway.

I’ll take advantage of my death and use my new identity to begin a new life.

From what I found with the search engine on Atlas’s phone, I’m a couple of hours from the Asylum.

No one knew I existed before going into that prison, and unless I run into Halstead at the one gas station in town, I don’t believe anyone will recognize me.

“Hey.” A male voice calls out behind me.

Whirling around, I raise the shovel behind me, ready to swing at the stranger’s head.

His hands fly up in front of him. “Whoa there, wild cat.”

“Who the fuck are you?” I snarl, already debating if I can handle cutting up another body tonight.

Absolutely not.

“Jaxson. I live across the street.” He winks, his friendly demeanor confusing the hell out of me since it’s very obvious I’m digging a fucking grave.

“Just you?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, just me. But I do have people who’ll ask questions if I don’t show up to work on Monday. So don’t do to me whatever you did to that poor bastard.”

I scoff. “He deserved worse than what he got.”

Fuck.

I just outed myself.

Jaxson’s gaze hardens. “I know.”

My eyes widen. “ How do you know?”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish. “I came over when I heard the yelling. I’d seen you before when he occasionally opened the curtains. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t hurting you.”

Dropping the shovel, my ass hits the ground, my body running on fumes. “You couldn’t stomach what he’s done to me.”

He inches closer, like he’s approaching a rabid dog. Once he realizes I won’t bite, he sits beside me, leaving a few feet between us. “What’s your name, wild cat?”

I grin at the nickname. “Do you want my real name, or the one he gave me?”

He shuffles closer. “The real one.”

“Olivia.”

“What name did he give you?”

“Lilly.”

He scrunches up his face. “No offense, but you’re no Lilly .”

A laugh bursts from my lips, and it feels good, yet foreign. He smiles, and it’s like a punch to the gut. Jaxson is tall, built, and has a face any woman would be honored to sit on. He’s a sexy fucking man, making Atlas seem like a steaming pile of dog shit.

His smile turns cocky as if he can sense my thoughts, and my cheeks burn with embarrassment. He stands abruptly, reaching for the discarded shovel beside me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, standing up, dusting off my ass.

“You’re gorgeous, wild cat, but you look exhausted. I’m going to dig this grave and throw him in it. After that, we’ll get you cleaned up so you can get some rest.”

My brows furrow. “Why?”

He grins. “It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

“Why aren’t you freaking out or calling the cops?” I ask, waiting for the ball to drop.

He winks before slamming the shovel into the hard ground, his eyes softening as he glances up at me. “Let’s just say I have a few skeletons in my back yard, too.”